


His Touch

by LiliannaBelle (Tam)



Series: Rumbelle Dark Castle Between the Scenes [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Community: rumpel_belle, F/M, Gen, Missing Scene, Rumpel_belle Winter Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:19:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tam/pseuds/LiliannaBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skin Deep missing scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Winter Rumbelle Challenge at the LiveJournal comm rumpel_belle. Spoilers up to Skin Deep only. Mild allusions to violence.

His voice was rough, his words bitingly cruel, but his hands on her body were whisper soft. Just as in that moment when they first met, and he had spirited her away from her family, her friends, her entire world…his eyes had danced with cruel glee as he bartered with her father and sneered at Gaston. But his hand at her waist had barely touched her. As genteel as any knight, he propelled her away from her father’s war room and then the castle that had been the only home she had ever known, with touches no more than fleeting wisps about her body. 

He paused no more than a moment to allow one of her serving ladies to drape her winter shawl around her shoulders, before whisking her out into the cold, harsh sunlight.

Gaston had pursued them to the gates, glowering. He advanced closer when Belle slowed her steps crossing the drawbridge. It was the heart of winter and the wind was bitingly cold, snowflakes alighting in her hair. After looking down at her questioningly, Rumpelstiltskin released her from even the slightest of clasps about her waist with which he had been escorting her.

Rumpelstiltskin strode ahead, oblivious to the strong gusts of wind and the shocked cries and gasps from the villagers as they gathered around, the news spreading like wildfire. He opened the door of his coach for her, and then swung around with practiced flair when Belle slowed her steps even further. The encroaching gale snatched her breath away and stung her eyes as she turned back, looking for her father, for one last glimpse. 

Her new master didn’t hurry her, merely steepled his fingers together, his lips curling into a smile that conveyed confidence to the point of arrogance, and yet did not reach his eyes. The icy cold cut Belle to the bone, but didn’t seem to have any effect on Rumpelstiltskin whatsoever. He watched her intently when she hesitated, lifting her face to the flurries of snow for one last look up at the imposing ramparts of the only home she had ever known. 

Belle gulped back unshed tears. Her papa had always kept her safe here, even delaying her arranged marriage long past expediency until the demands of the war forced his hand with Gaston’s family. The cold fear that crept into her heart had nothing to do with the freezing temperatures.

Belle had looked back for only a moment, but it was enough to encourage her previously betrothed; Gaston began to draw his sword. It had been but a small movement, nonetheless Rumpelstiltskin must have caught it from the corner of his eye for the next thing Belle knew he was back at her side, fingertips curling around her elbow in a gesture that felt strangely more protective than proprietary. 

A look from Rumpelstiltskin was all it took. Gaston sheathed his sword, and although he was at least a foot taller than the Dark One, Belle watched as he withered under Rumpelstiltskin’s sharp eyes and persistent, menacing grin.

Her father caught up to them, breathing heavily and wringing his hands. He peered at Belle through rheumy eyes, swimming with grief.

Rumpelstiltskin tittered, more whimsical than malicious, and much more casual than Belle sensed he actually felt. “Belle’s family may rest assured I will not have her exposed to the violent whims of men,” he intoned, his voice carrying to all the villagers despite the angry wind whipping around them. Without quite realizing what she was doing, Belle found she had stepped closer to her new master, sheltering from the snow and wind as best she could. His arm moved around her shoulders, feather light, yet his eyes glinted like the steel of Gaston’s sword, and never once left Gaston’s face.

Her papa bowed his head. At Rumpelstiltskin’s words, the broken man’s shoulders slumped; in relief or defeat, Belle couldn’t be certain. She looked up at Rumpelstiltskin, who still held her ever so gently. His eyes flicked to hers, and for a moment Belle thought she saw something tender in his expression. She released a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Then he released her elbow and strode confidently back to his carriage.

She paused barely a moment now, in wonder at the power this man commanded that he would strut off, not even waiting to see if Gaston and his men would make another overture against him—or if his new maid servant would be at his heels.

No, he most definitely didn’t seem concerned with Belle’s obedience. He merely waited as she gave her father one last tearful hug then gathered her skirts to go to Rumpelstiltskin’s side.

Even as her new master held out a hand to her there was a question in his features. She drew her lip between her teeth, trying to keep them from chattering as she stared up at him, mesmerized by the flecks of gold in his eyes. 

The entire castle staff had gathered to watch. The Dark One and his newest acquisition were the object of everyone’s attention, and quite a few of the townsfolk surrounded them now, yet Belle felt as if the two of them were in their own private world. The attention didn’t seem to bother Rumpelstiltskin at all. He regarded only her, his face softening and his eyes still questioning until she inclined her head. She slid her hand into his palm. He didn’t clutch at her, simply closed his hand around hers slowly, 

He answered her small nod with a high-pitched giggle she imagined was more nervous than manic. Then he extended his other hand to help her up into his carriage. That was Belle’s first glimpse of her master’s hidden strength; he lifted her off her feet as if she weighed no more than a bird.

Once he had settled her in her seat within a carriage with more opulent décor than she had ever seen, the door closed behind them with a snap. Belle bit her bottom lip again to keep it from trembling as the carriage jolted forward. Rumpelstiltskin sat himself across from her, busying himself with a blanket, studiously ignoring Belle as she twisted away from him and gripped the edge of the carriage door. Her fingers slipped on the frost, her knuckles whitening as she grasped harder for purchase. She ignored the almost blinding snow now as she strained for the last glimpse of her home, gasping as the carriage hurtled along at an almost alarming pace. 

Behind her, Rumpelstiltskin cleared his throat. “Too fast, dearie?”

Belle didn’t turn around. The voice behind her was teasing, snide even, but underneath she believed his concern was genuine. Confirming her suspicions, the carriage slowed considerably. She drew a shivery breath, choking down a sob as her childhood home disappeared behind the rolling hills.

The sharp breeze from their punishing pace had all but frozen her fingers on the door frame, but Belle’s tremors came from more than the biting cold. Out in these parts there were only a few dotted farms remaining of her father’s lands. She didn’t even have time for her tears to fall before the landscape became unfamiliar, so little had she been allowed to venture beyond her father’s realm.

She dashed away the tears that came then, in spite of all her efforts to maintain her composure. This was her choice and she was determined to face her sudden new future with the courage that would make her father proud. Just when her trembling threatened to overwhelm her completely, she startled to feel the soft warmth of a blanket enfolding her from behind.

“Lady Belle, please, sit back now. Not much longer, my dear.” The quietness in his voice moved her so much more than any of the casual menace of his earlier manner. Could it be that now they were alone, he would be different? Or was he alarmed by her obvious distress?

She did as he instructed, appreciating how he retreated from her after he carefully draped her in the blanket. Her fingers curled around the edges of the fleecy material as she burrowed inside it. She realized belatedly it was the blanket Rumpelstiltskin had been fussing with when he first boarded the carriage—had he known her resolve would crumble, and so soon?

He waited patiently until she risked a glance at him.

“It’s not too late to change your mind, you know,” he twittered, childlike and yet cynical at the same time. 

Belle blinked in apprehension, trying to shake off the notion that he could read her mind. He had settled again in the far corner of the carriage, lounging there with a careless sprawl that Belle suspected was deliberately so. She studied him, wondering what prompted the mercurial changes in his demeanor. Was he trying to drive her away? Was he nervous that she might take him up on a chance to back out? Or hopeful, so he could punish her for breaking their deal?

“I made up my mind,” she answered primly, lifting her chin. “I keep my word. I belong to you now.”

He “hmmed” in response, sizing her up. She didn’t look away, studying him for any reaction – joy, relief, exasperation – but his enigmatic face revealed nothing. He looked completely at ease with her scrutiny, so Belle let her eyes travel over his features. In stillness, the dying rays of the wintry afternoon sun filtered through his soft curly hair and lit his eyes. He didn’t appear anywhere near as frightening as she had first perceived him—in fact, when he wasn’t contorting his features to intimidate, underneath the strange green-gold sheen to his skin he was quite handsome.

Where had that thought come from? Surprised at herself, Belle blinked quickly and looked out at the passing scenery.

“What did you mean, not much longer?” she demanded, not wanting to lapse into silence again and have to be left alone with the turmoil of her own thoughts. “We’ve barely traversed my father’s lands.”

He shrugged, and as if in response the carriage slowed to a halt. “I’ve done enough of taking the long way round in my time. Carriages are good only when one must be close to the ground, to track a reprobate debtor or wayward kitchen maid.”

“What?” she squeaked. “Your maids run away? What did you do to them?”

He sniffed imperiously, feigning nonchalance. “They never get far. No one crosses me, dearie—none who live to tell the tale, anyway.”

She swallowed. Was that a threat? It was of no matter, she told herself, trying to calm her thumping heart, she wasn’t going to back out of this; her word was her honor.

“My lady?”

She glanced back at him suspiciously, fright still clutching at her heart, but there was no trace of rancor in his voice and his eyes were genuine again, possibly even slightly…hopeful. Belle was at a loss to fathom this man…or creature…wizard? 

Whatever he was, she was his. 

He alighted from the carriage and extended his arms to her, a faint smile gracing his features and softening his sharp eyes when she slid her trembling hands into his. She marveled that in that moment he felt as human as she. 

Looking into his eyes, Belle stepped off the carriage stoop and uttered a helpless scream as her feet fell into nothingness. The world around them melted away, in a much more literal sense than when he had commanded her attention before she boarded his carriage. There was only him, his hands tethering them together, so there was her too, but everything else had simply…gone.

She squeezed her eyes closed, clinging to her master, convinced she had gone quite simply insane. When she opened them again they were standing in the midst of a lush forest, knee deep in fluffy snow.

She tried to bite back another panicked shriek, and to her chagrin, stepped closer to the only constant in the moment of sudden change: Rumpelstiltskin himself. She buried her face in his chest and her hand gripped his arm so tightly she was afraid she must be hurting him. For a full minute he was silent, and she fancied her nearness was affecting him as much as it did her. She could smell the delicious scent of the leather pressed against her cheek. The ghost of a smile flitted across his face as he moved to put his other arm around her. Then, seemingly thinking better of it at the last moment, awkwardly patted her shoulder instead. 

“Where _are_ we?” she demanded.

“We are home, dear. Home sweet home,” he singsonged in a childlike voice. He bowed with a flourish, his lips quirking into a sleekit grin.

“There’s nothing here!” Indignation was fast replacing her fright but she didn’t let go of his hand.

“Well, of course, you can't _see_ it! Ha! Can't have any old vagabond stumbling upon my castle on a lark, now, can we?” He lifted his hand to her face, pausing for a moment to see if she would back away from him. When she didn’t move, he brushed snowflakes from her hair with a tenderness that belied his sardonic jibes.

She breathed out slowly and stepped back from him, until they were no longer touching. She put her hands on her hips. “And just how do you expect me to keep a household that I can't even see, hmm?” 

She lifted her chin haughtily, half-expecting to be turned into a toad with her impudence, but for all the brevity of their journey, her nerves were frayed and combined with a heavy tiredness settling into her bones, she was short on patience. She was also half-hoping that if he didn’t lash out at her in retribution for her impertinence, he might at least clarify what he wanted from her in return for saving her people. 

Instead of chastising her for her heated words, Rumpelstiltskin cooed as if delighted with her spirited demands. He gestured expansively, and she felt his eyes watching her closely even as her hands flew to her mouth and her own eyes widened.

“Oh,” she gasped, as the grandest castle keep she had ever seen materialized right in front of them. All around them were the high stone walls of the battlements, and behind them, the barbican ended in a formidable portcullis, effectively sealing them off from the outside world.

She turned just in time to see Rumpelstiltskin poised to catch her should she have swooned, but not actually touching her. Surprised by the gesture, when his delight at shocking her was so tangible, Belle gaped at him. He was a master of contradictions.

“Come, come!” He leapt up the stone staircase leading to the keep, his steps so light and agile. Belle gathered her skirts, along with something of her composure, and followed him. It took all of her concentration not to slip on the frozen stone steps, and she gratefully accepted his hand again when he offered it to steady her.

“You didn’t answer me, you know,” she huffed, refusing to be impressed when the heavy wrought iron castle doors creaked open with naught but a flick of Rumpelstiltskin’s finger and thumb. “What kind of housekeeper am I to be? Do you have other staff?”

He cackled in glee. “You’re it, dearie!” He extended his other hand to her, once again waiting for her to take it rather than grasping her. He helped her over the threshold, then released her, his head tilting and his fingers moving in the air as if conducting a fine orchestra only he could hear. And yet Belle fancied she could hear it too—or not _hear_ exactly, more like feel, in the rhythm of his steps, the cadence of his phrasing, the flourish of his restless hands. As jarring as he could be when he tried, there was not one discordant note in anything he did.

The heavy doors clanged to behind her, startling her into a half-stifled gasp. This was it. She was at his mercy. And yet still he made no move to threaten her with his person.

What the Dark One wanted her role to be in his life worried Belle, but she was determined not to show it. When Gaston had taken pains to deny Rumpelstiltskin’s request on account of their impending nuptials, Rumpelstiltskin had merely giggled, even as he clarified he was not challenging Gaston’s claim with a marriage proposal of his own. Could it be true, all he wanted her for was as a replacement maid, given his mention of former maids deserting their posts? 

He “was not looking for love” he had jeered at them all. But although yet a maiden, Belle was not so innocent that she did not know that left much leeway for all manner of…duties that could be expected of her, that love may indeed hold no part in.

He was watching her again, his eyes on hers. Belle swallowed. She wouldn’t desert her new master—the deal had been more than fair. He could keep her in chains until the end of her days and it would still be a bargain for all the lives he had saved that day. 

Not to mention she was now freed of another deal—one not so guaranteed to help at all, but when Gaston’s father had offered his armies in return for Sir Maurice’s daughter’s hand in marriage to his eldest son, what choice did she have? She had been betrothed to Gaston since before they had even met.

He had become a fixture in her childhood home, always following her around, trying to press his advantage when he thought they were alone.

One time, when it was her father himself who had tsked at Gaston’s over-eager handling of his bride to be, Belle had thrown herself into her father’s arms, much relieved. She had been certain that now her father would protect her—maybe even release her from the betrothal.

She had been chilled to the bone when instead her father had but set her back on her feet, brushed her hair back from her face tenderly, and exhorted her in his sternest voice: “Don’t try to deny him, Belle, for all our sakes.”

She had barely held back a sob as she ran from him, from both of them.

But now she was free of Gaston. Doubtless he would have been the less cruel of the two masters—Rumpelstiltskin’s ghastly reputation was well-established, after all. But in the short time she had known him, Rumpelstiltskin’s hands had touched her with nothing but gentility and respect.

Maybe this deal would work out to be better than she had hoped.

 

~~~

 

This deal was not working out as well as he had hoped. Rumpelstiltskin led his new servant on a merry dance throughout his castle, never quite letting her pause long enough to appreciate his impressive collection of sculptures, curios and paintings, and then as his agitation increased, not even letting her pause long enough to catch her breath.

The cause of his agitation was the very thing that had attracted him to Belle in the first place: her indomitable spirit. Oh she was afraid, yes, but she appeared to have sized him up and her fright was dissipating by the minute. Rumpelstiltskin did not know how to control those he owned without instilling a healthy dose of terror. 

He stopped suddenly, and the girl following behind almost ran into him. _Just turn around_ , he told himself. _Spin around and push her up against the cold masonry, make some leering comment about the size of his estate again, and how he expected her to be responsible for **all** of it._ Then he could watch the confidence in her step falter, the bright hope in her eyes extinguish to be replaced once more by fear.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t bring himself to touch her, except with the merest caress at her waist to bear her away from her home, or some obsequious hand to help her into his carriage, a disgustingly gentle wrapping of a warm blanket around her when she shivered. And for the life of him, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t figure out why.

He spun slowly in place, letting his eyes drift up and down Belle’s diminutive form. She tilted her head and…unbelievably…smiled at him. It was slight, but it was there.

He was flummoxed. This would never do. This was dangerous. This tiny _girl_ was dangerous if she could so easily disarm him and confuse his common sense.

Time to put her in her place.

His boot heels clacked satisfyingly on the cold stone as he began walking again at a rapid clip, this time headed for his dungeons.

 

~~~

 

Rumpelstiltskin stood in the doorway for a long moment, staring down at the weeping figure crouched in the far corner. “I said, I would like to take tea now.”

Belle didn’t dignify that with an answer.

He spoke as if nothing was amiss. As if he hadn’t just tossed her in here, all alone, that very afternoon. So Belle ignored him. She sat in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees, shivering from the chill in the dungeon. She thought about trying to stem her tears, but she couldn’t help sobbing in fear at her naïveté. Of course he would throw her in a dungeon, what else had she expected?

Rumpelstiltskin emitted a long put-upon sigh. Belle glared up at him then, expecting to see nothing but darkness in his expression. To her surprise, he looked almost…apologetic. She blinked away her tears. Again, everything about this man was a contradiction.

Once he held her gaze, he stepped into the room, approaching her slowly, in a manner much like Belle had learned to do when taming a frightened young colt. She tried to get to her feet, but her legs were stiff with cold, and her mind fuzzy from crying. She sat back down again. Let him get his own tea, she thought, jutting out her lower lip.

Rumpelstiltskin surprised her again when he bent down to her level and held out a handkerchief. She took it with a suspicious glare and a shaking hand. He waited patiently while she mopped up her tears. When she went to hand it back to him he made it disappear in a puff of purple smoke with no more than a raising of his eyebrow. She felt the power of him then, prickling her skin with goosebumps and making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Do you think you could stop crying long enough to brew a pot of tea, dearie?” His voice mocked her mercilessly and he cocked his head.

But his eyes…his eyes were not mocking. Instead they were…kind. Or was she simply being naïve again?

“You threw me in a dungeon!”

“Tell me, young Belle, when you domesticate a small animal, like a cat or a puppy, do you let it roam freely the moment you take it home?”

She shook her head numbly. She had cared for enough pets in her time. They had to be contained. At first to a room, possibly even a cage. They couldn’t be given the run of the house until they had learned to trust their new master, and when the worst pangs of homesickness had left them so they wouldn’t try to flee at the first chance and possibly hurt themselves in the process.

But she wouldn’t give the Dark One the satisfaction of such an answer. Besides, she was no confused housepet, she was a woman, and she had given her word. Locking her in here was a _ridiculous_ way to earn her trust. Or was it he that didn’t trust her?

“The _deal_ is struck.” She threw his own words back at him, fancying she saw him flinch just slightly.

His eyes narrowed, but he nodded, again a tiny movement. If she had blinked she would have missed him acknowledge her words. He leaned closer and held out his hands to help her up. She accepted his help, even allowing his hands about her waist when she nearly tripped on her petticoats.

“I said, I’d like to take tea now. Cease your sniveling, girl, stop it at once. Can't abide sobbing maids. No one here but me to hear you, so _stop it_.”

His voice was rough, his words bitingly cruel, but his hands on her body were whisper soft.

 

~~~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know if you liked it?


End file.
